


sick day (in which novak is sick and andy has had enough)

by sebthealienn



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Boys In Love, Domestic Bliss, M/M, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebthealienn/pseuds/sebthealienn
Summary: Novak tends to be a little dramatic. Andy, as bad as it sounds, is used to it.





	sick day (in which novak is sick and andy has had enough)

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored so I whipped this up today! I have so many ideas for this pairing, lol

He feels like he's going to die. He's dying. This is it. His head feels like it's being crushed, that's how excruciating the pain is. He's writhing around on the bed, clutching at his head, rolling onto his back, then his stomach. There's an ice pack on his forehead, but that isn't helping much, as the pain is almost too much to handle. 

Novak can't remember the last time he's felt such pain. The last time could have been that time when he tumbled on court, twisting his ankle and hitting his head, but even that was no comparison to now. He can barely open his eyes - the light is too blinding; too bright, and his eyes can't take it. His stomach feels weird, as if it's doing numerous backflips, and his face feels hot. It feels like it's just been set on fire, and he can do nothing about it.

And then there's his nose. He can barely breathe. There's something clogging his nasal passages and it's impossible to inhale properly, and he's out of breath and it's so frustrating to have to breathe with his mouth. His throat burns as well, and breathing with his mouth makes it worse, as does eating and drinking. 

That's it. He's going to starve to death. He's going to thirst to death. He's going to burn to death. In other words, he's going to die.

"I'm going to die!" He screams, his voice hoarse and pained, and he feels as if the ground has opened up and death is welcoming him with open arms.

And then there's a hand on his forehead and his mouth is being opened, and then there's a spoon and the taste of a horrible liquid (Novak identifies it as the cherry flavored medicine that his doctor always tells him to take; he always forgets the name of it). There's a sound of someone sighing from above him. Andy Murray looks like he hasn't slept in five years. Novak finally forces his eyes open, squinting in the bright lights of the bedroom as his head starts pounding painfully. He hates migraines. "Calm down," Andy says, sounding more exasperated than Novak's ever heard him sound. He's looking at him with something that can only be described as exhaustion. "It's just a bloody light fever."

"A light fever?!" Novak is practically shouting, but he stops himself, realizing the reason his head hurts this much is because he's screaming his lungs out constantly, and vows to talk quieter from then on. Because he's Novak, that won't exactly be easy. He pouts, seeing the bored and slightly annoyed (okay, maybe he's more annoyed than just 'slightly') look on Andy's face, and crosses his arms over his chest as he lays there, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't feel good." He protests, more calmly this time, and some of the annoyance ebbs away from Andy's face.

He sighs and leans over to fluff up Novak's pillow. "Of course you don't feel good. You're sick." He presses a soft kiss to Novak's forehead, then holds up a bowl of soup. "I made you some chicken soup!"

Figures.

"You're a saint," Novak drawls, shifting over on the bed so Andy can perch on the side of it, giving him a half-hearted grin as he sits.

He doesn't even have to ask to be fed anymore, because Andy is already dipping the spoon in and holding it up to Novak's lips. They continue that action until the bowl is empty and Novak's insides feel all warm and full and satisfied, and he can swear that his headache is already getting better. Andy's chicken soup is a miracle-worker, apparently.

Andy is looking at him, eyes warm (not warmer than Novak's insides, but warm enough). "Better?" He asks, in a tone usually reserved for when you're talking to a curious toddler.

"Yeah."

"Good." He gets up with a grunt, probably to go put the empty bowl away, but pauses in his tracks when Novak reaches out his arms in his direction and whines. "What?"

"Stay with me," Novak says, and it's not even a question or a proposition. It's more of a demand, and he knows he's won when the bowl is placed on the dresser across the room and a large and heavy body crawls over him and to his side of the bed. Novak lets himself be the small spoon. He likes being the small spoon more than he'd want to admit to anyone, even Andy. He likes feeling Andy's chest against his back, his warmth enveloping him and his hot breath on the back of his neck, their legs tangled together. Now Andy wraps an arm over Novak's torso, pulling them closer together, so that his chest and Novak's back are pressed so tightly together that they couldn't move closer if they tried.

"If you get me sick," he begins, already failing in getting himself to sound strict, "I'll be really mad at you."

Novak doesn't answer, but instead takes Andy's hand and brings it up to his lips for a light kiss, then links their fingers together. Novak swears he can feel Andy rolling his eyes, but there's also probably a smile on his face, one that indicates that he wouldn't want to be anywhere but here, and Novak takes great pride in having that effect on him. 

His head feels like it's splitting open, and his stomach is performing gymnastics routines, and his nose is clogged, but he currently actually doesn't want to die. He can hear Andy muttering under his breath about how he's going to be sick tomorrow, but he doesn't really mind if it means they can cuddle now. He hopes Andy doesn't mind either. "I love you," he tries, grinning as he says it, and he hears Andy's breathy chuckle.

"You're an idiot, and you're going to get me sick." 

Novak laughs out loud, ignoring the increased pain experienced by his head, and closes his eyes. Yeah, this is the life.

FIN


End file.
